


Peace (or Lack Of)

by Solanaceae



Series: Femslash Friday [13]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Family Dinner, Femslash Yuletide 2013, also the quality of this is questionable, and yet somehow Fëanor manages to be almost civil, feanorian-nolofinwean dinners are never a good idea, very very subtextual femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 20:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is hardly Nerdanel’s idea of a quiet dinner. (Written for Femslash Yuletide Prompt #5: Family Dinner)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace (or Lack Of)

_It will be… a peace offering, of sorts,_  Fëanáro had said, a quiet displeasure in his eyes.  _Atar wishes his sons to come together for at least a dinner. Arafinwë has already left for Alqualondë, but Nolofinwë and his sons will be coming three days from now––_

It was supposed to be a––if not quite pleasant, then at least a  _quiet_  affair. Cheerful. Uneventful.

Nerdanel should have known better from the start.

It had all gone according to plan until right about when they all sat down at the table––Fëanáro had refrained from making any overly sharp remarks, Nolofinwë had been a gracious guest. His children had also been relatively polite despite the fact that Nerdanel caught Tyelkormo and Carnistir making faces at little Turukáno whenever they thought her back was turned. Anairë had kept a watchful enough eye on her two sons, hands folded protectively over the swell of her stomach that would be a daughter in a few month’s time.

By the time they were ready to sit down around the table, Maitimo and Makalaurë had returned from their hunting trip, flushed red with the chill wind outside, mumbling excuses for their lateness. Neither Fëanáro nor Nerdanel chose to chastise them in front of their uncle and cousins; besides, both of them were very nearly of age and therefore their own masters.

"Shall we eat, then?" Nerdanel asked brightly, smiling at Anairë and offering her a hand rising from the couches. The dark-haired elf took it with a grateful look, and they made their way to the carved wooden table that Mahtan had made for them so many years ago.

The first hint of trouble came when little Curufinwë threw a spoonful of his food across the table, smacking Findekáno square in the nose. Before either set of parents could react, Turukáno had turned to the toddler beside him and smacked him across the face.

Nerdanel swept the wailing child up in her arms, waving off Anairë’s flustered apologies, shooting Fëanáro an imploring glance––her husband had risen halfway out of his seat, eyes flashing, and Nolofinwë looked more than ready to accept the invitation to a roaring argument.

"He will be  _fine_ ,” she said over Curufinwë’s screams. “I shall––it is about his bedtime, I believe, I shall be back momentarily––” Hopefully Fëanáro would not decide to murder anyone in her absence. Particularly Nolofinwë, as that would not go over too well with Finwë.

By the time she was done comforting the toddler into a hiccuping silence, by the time she had tucked him into his bed and returned to the dining room, a sort of tense silence reigned. At her entrance, Makalaurë looked up and laughed, the sound short and too loud in the quiet.

"Well, Amil, would you like some roast boar? I don’t think anyone can manage to throw  _that_  across the table.”

She smiled at him, sitting down beside her husband. “Of course, Makalaurë. I would love some.”

The level of conversation returned to something resembling normalcy. Across the table, Nerdanel caught Findekáno nodding off, head coming perilously close to his glass of water.

She heard a laughing whisper from beside her and turn to catch Carnistir slipping under the table, sliding right out of his chair onto the floor. Tyelkormo looked suspiciously amused.

Fëanáro cleared his throat, cutting off something Nolofinwë had been saying. “Carnistir, please return to your seat immediately––”

There was a muffled giggle and Carnistir emerged, a grin on his face. Before Nerdanel could say anything––that look was not a very good look for her son to be giving her––there was a sudden bark. Tyelkormo’s dog came bounding in, homing in on the drowsy Findekáno. It ran headlong into the back of his chair, pushing the boy forward into the table, his water glass toppling over and soaking the tablecloth and him alike.

"Carnistir––" Nerdanel grabbed her son by the collar, frowning. "What did you––" She caught Tyelkormo’s laugh and spun on him. "This was your idea, then. What did you have him do?"

"Only––" Tyelkormo’s face was red with suppressed laughter. "Only tie some of that boar to Finno’s shoes so the dog would come––"

Behind her, Maitimo snorted into his wineglass. Despite himself, even Fëanáro looked amused.

Findekáno glared at Tyelkormo, fury bubbling up in his eyes. “You––” His hand closed around the stem of his fallen glass and then there was a blur of motion, a shattering noise, and then there was blood running down her son’s face, bright red mingling with the remnants of the water that had been thrown along with the glass.

Nolofinwë and Fëanáro started shouting something at the same time, the angry words overlapping and blurring until Nerdanel couldn’t follow either. Tyelkormo was biting his lip, swiping away the blood from the twin cuts on his forehead and cheek, stubbornly not letting the tears in his eyes fall. She grabbed his hands and forced them away from his face, simultaneously grabbing the nearest napkin and dabbing at the thin stream of blood trickling down her son’s cheek.

"You’re fine," she informed him, fumbling in her pocket for a bandage (accidents happened in a workshop, it was always a good idea to have such things on hand) and Tyelkormo nodded. "That was a foolish thing to do." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anairë dragging Findekáno from the room by his wrist, fury writ clear on her normally cheerful features. Somehow the unexpectedness of that made it all the more terrifying; Findekáno was already sobbing.

Somehow, by the time she had bundled Tyelkormo (and Carnistir, for good measure) off to bed, Fëanáro and his half-brother were sitting at the table, drinking from identical glasses and talking in an almost civil manner.

_A minor miracle, that_. Nerdanel noted that Anairë was missing and retreated from the dining room, leaving the two to their conversation. She passed Turukáno, curled up and asleep on the couch.

Anairë was standing by the front window, the silver light of Telperion outlining her in silver. At the sound of Nerdanel’s footsteps she turned, looking quite apologetic. “I––I’m so sorry, Nerdanel, Finno had no right to do such a thing––”

"All is well, Anairë," Nerdanel replied, joining her at the window, their skirts brushing with a soft sound of fabric. "Tyelkormo should not have provoked him as he did. And he will not suffer overmuch from a few cuts––and the pain may teach him a thing or two, besides."

Anairë laughed, and then surprised Nerdanel by leaning into her and resting her head on her shoulder, hair falling in front of her face. “Thank you so much for inviting us here, Nerdanel. It would be so wonderful if the petty arguments between our families could cease once and for all––”

Nerdanel nodded and reached down, entwining her fingers with Anairë’s with a small smile. “That would be wonderful indeed.”


End file.
